


Not so heavy as mine

by zinjadu



Series: Wed to Blight [9]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Childishness, Dragon Age Quest: Broken Circle, Female Friendship, Gen, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 21:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14901927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinjadu/pseuds/zinjadu
Summary: Uldred defeated, Caitwyn Tabris tries to shut down and shut out all the feelings dredged up by the demon's nightmares.  But she has a couple unexpected friends to help her out.  Whether she likes it or not.





	Not so heavy as mine

Alistair squinted and shielded his eyes with his hand as they exited the tower.  Judging by the sun, it was late afternoon.  Of the following day.  That meant they’d been in the tower for roughly eighteen hours.  How many of those hours had been spent in the Fade, he had no idea.  Caitwyn had managed to talk the Knight-Commander into revoking the Rite of Annulment, and good thing, too.  They’d need the mages to stop the Blight.

 

That conversation with Gregoir had been nearly all she had said since defeating Uldred.  She had turned in on herself again, and about the only thing that had drawn her out at all had been Maethor’s enthusiastic greeting when they’d returned to where the survivors waited.  Aside from that, though, she’d gone back to her habitual distant demeanor. 

 

Uncertain about what else he could do, Alistair had taken it upon himself to relate what he could remember of what had happened on the floors above.  Leliana had been openly curious, and Sten added a few details when Alistair’s memory lapsed.  The whole thing was, unsurprisingly, fading like a dream, but then he got to the part where Caitwyn transformed, and Leliana shifted her focus.

 

“You really turned into other creatures?” she asked excitedly.  Caitwyn’s expression remained impassive as she answered. 

 

“I had help.  There were other beings there, spirits of Templars and other things, and they… did something, showed me what to do?  It’s not very clear now.”  She waved her hand, as if brushing away cobwebs, or dismissing the whole thing entirely. 

 

“The golem one was a neat trick!” Alistair said before he could stop himself.  He grinned at the memory of it, and he hoped _that_ image would stick with him for a while.  It was damned hilarious, especially because he thought the demon had been surprised as anything to see it.  “There you were, all tiny, and then bam!  Giant golem.  Seems like it was a bit of fun, that.”

 

“Yes, it was a highlight, between fighting demons, looking for you, and trying not to end up lost forever in the Fade,” she said, her tone witheringly dry.  He had no idea if she was joking or not, and he had no idea what to do, so he went with the safest option.

 

“Sorry?” he replied, spreading his hands helplessly.

 

“It seems I missed a rather exciting adventure,” Leliana interjected brightly, a bit too brightly, trying to over the tension with good cheer.  “You must have a strong will to have freed yourself from your dream by yourself, when everyone else needed help.”

 

“Indeed, the demon was clever in that regard.  It knew what would compel,” Sten intoned.  Alistair had no idea what would have compelled _Sten_ of all people, and he decided he didn’t want to know.  Then glanced to Caitwyn, and his mouth moved again without consulting his brain.

 

“What was your dream, anyway?  I mean—” Caitwyn’s sharp eyes cut him off mid-sentence, and he took half a step back, startled by the whip-quick change.

 

“It’s not important,” she snapped.  Stunned silence reigned for a heartbeat.  Then she blinked, her face once again that neutral mask, and then she turned away, as if exiling him from consideration.  In a more even tone, she spoke again, “Let’s… just get to the shore.  Wynne said she has to get some things before she can leave.  Better to wait at that inn, I expect.”  Leliana murmured her agreement, and Sten rumbled his approval, but Alistair suddenly felt unwelcome.  It was a feeling he’d known all his life, never fitting in anywhere, always on the outside of everything.  She’d seen that, hadn’t she?  In his dream?  He had the niggling suspicion that her reaction was just a touch unfair.

 

“You know, why don’t I stay back?  Make sure Wynne gets across safely,” he said.  No one protested, no one said anything, and then he was alone at the wooden jetty, watching the others sail back across the lake. 

 

Kicking a few errant pebbles, he made his way back to the main hall of the tower.  He really should make sure Wynne got safely across.  That was a good thing to do, but that wasn’t what occupied his thoughts.  Instead, he couldn’t get rid of the image of Caitwyn’s green eyes glinting in the afternoon sunlight.  It wasn’t quite anger, and it wasn’t quite fear, but _something_ , nor could he disregard the hard, bitter set of her mouth.

 

It slammed into him that it was his own damn fault that she was upset.  It had been wrenching to accept that the perfect little life hadn’t been real.  He’d wanted a life like that with an aching desperation.  A home, a family, a place where people actually _liked_ him instead of seeing him as this leftover, unwanted complication.  An ill fit for everywhere and everything.  But she’d been there, she’d helped him see through the illusions, and they’d fought _together_.  What had she fought her way out of?  All alone?

 

He really was an idiot. 

 

Self-recriminations dancing in his head, he wandered back into the tower, mumbling excuses about helping Wynne, and then he had an idea.  It might not help, but it might not hurt either.

 

* * *

 

The long summer day stretched out like a lazy cat, and Caitwyn sat perched on the roof of the Spoiled Princess watching the sun set over the lake.  It was almost, _almost_ like home.  The oranges and reds of the sky reflected on the water, while the deeper, darker blue of night trailed behind the more vibrant colors.  It was just that the water was in the wrong direction, west not east, and the sun had never set in Denerim harbor like it did on Lake Calenhad; the sun rose over the water back home instead.

 

But it was close enough for her, for now.

 

Once the dust had settled, after Uldred had fallen and they’d escorted Irving back down to the Templars as proof that not all mages had to die, the panic and desperation and heartache she’d locked down tightly in the Fade had bubbled back up in her chest.   It had taken every ounce of control to not find a place to hide and cry herself out.  Instead, she had held on and tried to just make it through.  Get to the inn, get some food, get real, honest sleep, not demon controlled nightmares.  She’d feel better in the morning.

 

However, Alistair hadn’t stopped talking about it, and she hadn’t been able to push the memories away until they were easier to handle.  It wasn’t Alistair’s fault he’d stepped in it.  He didn’t know.  But it had compounded her need to escape, to find a place to hide.  Even if it was just on the roof of a measly two-story in.  What she wouldn’t give for her secret spots in Denerim right now. 

 

Eyes trained on the peaceful scene before her, the scene that gave no hint as to the horrors contained in that mighty tower in the lake, she only belatedly noticed the huffs and grunts of someone exerting themselves nearby.  Peering over the edge she saw Alistair, at least changed out of his armor and into a tunic and breeches, climbing up the side of the building.  Though it was less a climb and more of a determined scramble up various crates and barrels, and then he stopped as he tried to figure out how to go further.  Then he caught sight of her watching him.

 

“Thought you were up here,” he said, glancing up at her.  Briefly, she considered not helping, but then she pointed out the small ledge that over hung the first story break.  He flashed her a grin by way of thanks, and with a few more puffs and grumbles he gained the roof.   She regarded him with no small measure of amusement as he flopped down on the tiles.  “What’re you doing up here anyway?”

 

“… Sitting?” she replied.  She drew her legs to her chest and wrapped her arms around her knees.  A chill wind blew in off the lake as the evening came on, and she hadn’t brought her cloak with her.  Alistair sat upright, wiping the sweat off his brow, and he was about to say something but then closed his mouth.  Instead, he followed the line of her eyes and watched the sun dip a little closer to the lake.

 

“Not a bad place to sit, I suppose.”  His voice was quiet in the early evening, and a little worm of guilt crawled long in her head.  Then he broke the moment.  “Well anyway, Wynne made it across.  Obviously, since I’m here too.  But uh, better news, and why I was looking for you.  Leliana got us all rooms!  Downside, you’re rooming with Morrigan.  Because Leliana and Wynne didn’t want to.”

 

His amiable rambling drew a small smile out of her, in spite of herself.  Though she rolled her eyes at the so-called downside.

 

“Oh, she’s not that bad.”

 

“Not to _you_ maybe.”

 

Caitwyn let out a little exhalation of amusement, but didn’t try to argue the point.  There was no getting around the fact that Morrigan found a way to try to needle everyone, and Alistair especially.  She watched him out the corner of her eyes, trying to figure out why he came all the way up here just to tell her that.  Someone could have shouted that from down on the ground, really.  Then his eyes drifted back to the water, and his shoulders rounded forward.

  
“I’m sorry,” he said at last, still not looking at her.  She had no idea what to say to that, so she said nothing, as still as the water of the lake.  “I’m sorry I asked about your dream.  Shouldn’t have done that.  Not my place.”  He spoke softly, slowly, and he glanced at her, eyebrows drawn together in apologetic concern. 

 

Her guilt bloomed anew, and she shifted, an uncomfortable tightness behind her breastbone.  She _should_ say it.  She really should. 

 

“I’m.  I’m sorry I snapped at you.  No call for that,” she told him, forcing the words out like an unruly cat.

 

“It’s alright.  Nothing I’m not used to really,” he said easily, chuckling.  He shook his head like he couldn’t imagine why anyone would ever apologize to him for being upset with him for meagre reasons.

 

“That… actually makes it worse.”

 

“Well, you’d be the first person to think that.”

 

His words were easy, light, and completely without bitterness.  It was just how things had always been for him.  The way he spoke, it made her wonder about him.  She wondered if there was some part of him that was missing, and not just the bit between his brain and his mouth, but something like the part of her that never let her forget, never allowed her to let things go.  Or if it was her that wasn’t right, if it was her that was wrong somehow.  Broken on the inside.  If she always had been.

 

“I dreamed I was with my family, too,” she told him cautiously, as if she were offering him a precious stone or something far finer than a banal fact.  It wasn’t special, it wasn’t important.  But her voice strained on the words all the same.  “I was home, and everyone was happy.  Except, you know…”

 

“It wasn’t real.”  That gentle tone again, the one that understood and reached across.  It reminded her of when the Drakon had flooded, when no one had cared who was standing on the line, just that someone _was_ there helping to keep the rising waters at bay.  No one she had met since Ostagar had been what she had expected, but they were beside her now.  That was what should matter.

 

“No, it wasn’t,” she agreed, reaching back before she could stop herself.  The silence stretched, but not awkwardly.  Instead, it was comfortable, uncluttered by nagging, errant thoughts.  Then Alistair shifted, eyeing the edge of the roof.

 

“I don’t, don’t suppose we can get down now?  I just realized we’re up pretty high,” he said, voice rising with undisguised concern.  A grin played across her face, and she scoffed.

 

“We’re only two stories up.”

 

“ _Still._ ”

 

“Alright, alright.”  She sighed, waving her hand dismissively.  As if that were signal enough, he started to cautiously descend the side of the building, and she had to call out instructions for where he could safely put his feet.  Once he was back on the _blessed, lovely ground_ , she followed, though far more nimbly.  Together, they rounded the corner of the building, and Caitwyn was torn between getting some food or having a bath first.  Oh Maker, to be _clean_ would be a treasure all its own. 

 

“Oh, almost forgot,” Alistair said when they were almost to the door.  He patted down his tunic as if he were looking for something.  “Wynne brought some books out for you.  More, ugh, _math_ , bit of history too.  But, um, I got this for you.  Thought it might be helpful.”

 

Withdrawing a slim volume from his tunic, he held it out for her.  She took it, her fingers tracing the embossed lettering, _Mabari, a History and Training Guide by R. E. L. Severith_.  The leather binding creaked as she opened it, and she skimmed the first few pages.  It was written in a style she wasn’t used to, with formal phrasing and an authoritative tone.  It might be helpful with Maethor, though, and it’d be good to know more about the breed.

 

But she couldn’t resist glancing back up at him, one dark eyebrow raised inquiringly.

 

“And by ‘got’, do you mean you told them you were taking it, or did you lift it?” she asked with a put upon air of innocence. 

 

“Says the woman who, by her own admission, used to do second-story work,” he said dryly. 

 

“That’s not, I mean,” she stumbled.  Then she glared up at him.  “You’re horrible, that’s what you are.”

 

“That’s me, completely horrible,” he said cheerfully.  He rocked back on his heels, grinning.  She tried to keep her face impassive, but the corners of her lips twitched.  He grinned even wider, his smile a touch crooked she noticed, she knew he’d seen her bare smile no matter how she tried to hide it.  Exasperated at herself for being so transparent, she strode to the door, but then paused, one hand on the dark stained wood.

 

“Thanks for the book,” she told him, and then she ducked inside.  Though on the edge of her hearing, she heard his reply, barely above a whisper, “Of course.”

 

* * *

 

Alistair sat cross-wise on the bench at one of the tables in the common room of the inn, Sten sitting impassively across from him.  Then again, Sten did _everything_ impassively, so that wasn’t surprising.  Maethor sprawled on the floor, watching the door for Caitwyn to come back.  Dogs were not allowed in the bath house, and it had been a fight to let him stay inside the inn proper.  Normally elves weren’t allowed to stay here either, but one sweetly voiced threat from Leliana had changed all that.  Alistair had wanted to opt for a more direct punch-in-the-face method.  Instead, he’d gone outside to look for Caitwyn.  While she probably had some idea that she wasn’t completely welcome here, Alistair had no intention of confirming that for her. 

 

Now he waited, his eyes drifting to the door like the dog’s.  He was rather hungry, but he didn’t want to start dinner without everyone else.  A real dinner, too, not just whatever they could scrape together and throw into a stew pot.  Until then, however, the silence was getting to him, a buzzing tingle at the back of his head, setting his fingers to tapping on the bench and his leg to bouncing idly.  Out of any better option, he tried to talk to Sten.

 

“So, do qunari women take a long time in the bath, too?” he asked.  Sten turned his head, and Alistair felt like a ballista had just been aimed at him.

 

“I would not know.  I have not timed it,” Sten answered in flat tones.

 

“Right,” Alistair drawled, wondering what else he should have expected.  Even Maethor looked at him with a measure of disappointment for that attempt.  Then the Mabari stood and was at the door bouncing with joy like he was a puppy, not a vicious war dog.  Leliana and Wynne stepped out and then had to step around Maethor as he made a bee-line for Caitwyn.  The antics elicited a fond laugh from Leliana and even an indulgent smile from Wynne.  Caitwyn must have leaned down to give Maethor a scratch, because she was entirely hidden behind his bulk, and that brought an amusing image to Alistair’s mind. 

 

Nothing like a girl and her attack dog, he thought absently.  Then Caitwyn stood, and Alistair felt like he’d been hit with a hammer.

 

She wore only a simple and tunic and breeches, the only kind of supplies the Circle could spare, but she was scrubbed clean and her dark skin glowed in the low firelight.  What really startled him, however, was her hair.  She certainly had a lot of it.  Free of the braid, which he didn't think he’d ever seen her without now that he thought about it, her hair hung around her face like a cloud of dark curls.  Not those artful curls court ladies wore, but a wild bramble that somehow looked soft to the touch.

 

But that shouldn’t matter.  He really shouldn’t be thinking like that.  They were both Wardens, and sure he liked making her laugh, making her smile.  If only because it was kind of a challenge since he could probably count off the number of times he’d seen her smile.  When she did, though, when she did her face lit up and her green eyes made him think of when he’d run through the summer grass as a boy—no, that was a bad track to take.  So what if she was pretty?  He’d seen pretty girls before.  Leliana was pretty!  Well, rather Orlesian and a bit too religious, but there had been a few women in the Templars who weren’t terrifying.  Caitwyn was hardly the first pretty girl he’d ever noticed.  Besides, it was hard enough just trying to be her friend.  She was hard to read and sometimes reacted to the smallest questions like she was having her teeth pulled, so that was that.

 

He could have a friend who was a girl who happened to be pretty.

 

When she smiled, though—

 

“Hey, you there?” she asked. 

 

“So much hair,” he blurted.  He heard Leliana laugh, and even Wynne let out a grandmotherly little chortle.  Caitwyn’s expression turned evaluative.  He tried to dig himself out of the weird hole his mouth had gotten him into and rambled, “Um, yeah, I’m here.  Where else would I be?  Just here, me.”

 

“Well now you know why I wear it in a braid, I suppose, if you were wondering,” she allowed, sitting down opposite him, next to Sten where she could keep her back to the wall and her eyes on the room. There was something almost teasing in her tone.  She did that, back and forth.  Able to joke one moment and then closing herself off the next.  He knew something had to trigger her pensive moods, but she seemed to be coming around quicker this time.  That was good, wasn’t it?

 

Standing, he almost stumbled over the bench, but managed to catch himself just in time.  With a self-conscious cough, he persevered, “Right, makes sense.  Anyway, I’m going to get some dinner, you want anything?”

 

“Think they have pie?  Could really go for pie right now.”  Her lilting voice was quick and light, and he quashed the errant thought that it was almost musical, her accent.

 

“Right, pie, can do that.”  Making his way over to the counter, Alistair realized he had no idea what to get her if they _didn’t_ have pie.  While he was debating if he should go back and ask her, Leliana joined him, a bemused expression on her face.  He’d forgotten to get anyone else’s dinner requests.  He froze like a startled animal, but that only made Leliana’s amusement more blatant.  However, she turned to the surly proprietor, and dimpled at him, as if she hadn’t had to threaten him mere hours ago.

 

“Two bowls of stew and one plate of the roast dinner, please,” she requested.  The man grunted, and then turned to glare at Alistair.

 

“And you… ser?”  Alistair noticed the meaningful pause, and decided to ignore it.  Didn’t matter anyway.

 

“You have pies?” he asked.

 

“We make _a_ pie.  How many you want?”  That was a good question, and he turned around, catching Caitwyn’s eye.  He mouthed a silent _how many?_ in her direction, and she pursed her lips thoughtfully.  She held her hands slightly apart, miming a circle, a question in the tilt of her head.  He caught sight of one of the pies resting on the back bar, and they looked like a generous portion.  He held his hands a good span apart, and she held up two fingers.

 

“Two should do it, and a roast dinner as well,” he said as pleasantly as possible. 

 

“Wait here, and pay first,” the barkeep grunted, tapping the bar.   Alistair dug out a few coins, and let them fall to wood with a dull clink, where they were quickly scooped up.  Then the barkeep favored Alistair with one last surly glare before barging into the kitchens to yell at someone to get dinner together.  He thought maybe he should go sit back down?  But no, the proprietor didn’t seem the sort to bring the food to the table, and besides, what would he say?  More likely he’d sit there like an awkward lump or put his foot in it again.

 

“Are you feeling well, Alistair?” Leliana asked him, and once again he was jarred out of his own thoughts.

 

“Um, none the worse for the wear, I suppose.  Been a long day.  Well night, then weird exhausting dream, and then day, if we’re going to be accurate.  Why do you ask?”  He spoke quickly, knowing he sounded nervous.  She seemed nice enough, but sometimes he thought she saw things a little too well for someone who had been a lay sister of the Chantry.  Her expression turned impish, however, and that just made him more nervous.

 

“Oh, no reason,” she demurred, and then the barkeep returned.  A dubious savior, but he held a few plates in his hands, which he slung down on the counter, followed by a slight girl in an apron, the rest of the food balance precariously in her hands. 

 

“Your dinners,” the man said.  With a spare set of _thank yous_ , Alistair and Leliana took up the food and headed back to the table.  The table where Caitwyn sat between Sten and Wynne, making her look smaller than she actually was. 

 

* * *

 

“You really didn’t need to get me those books, Wynne,” Caitwyn demurred, though she was grateful.  She’d never had books so fine in all her life, and she felt uncertain about what she would do with them as they journeyed.  The history would be helpful, but she wasn’t sure how learning advanced mathematics would help them at all.  Even if she was intrigued by the idea of learning it.

 

“It was no trouble.  In fact, I suspect you will put them to more use, and get more out of them, than anyone in Kinloch at the moment,” Wynne said sagely.

 

“Exercising the mind should not be neglected.  If you have the ability to learn such things, you should push yourself to do so,” Sten agreed just as Alistair and Leliana reached the table.  It was like being back at home between the mage and the qunari, everyone with their opinions and a willingness to voice them no matter that she hadn’t asked for advice.  She raised her eyes to Alistair and Leliana, allowing a sliver of her irritation to show on her face.  Maybe they could help drive the conversation another way.

 

“Two pies!  I have no idea what kind they are, so good luck,” Alistair told her brightly, setting the pies down.  Caitwyn greedily pulled both plates toward herself.

 

“At this point I’ll risk it,” she said.  Then she cracked open the crust with her fork, digging in.  It was warm and filling, and the crust was perfectly buttery and golden.  It wasn’t a patch on Papa’s pies, of course, but out here, she’d take it.  There was a lull in the conversation while everyone ate, Leliana and Wynne slowly savoring their bowls of stew, and Sten methodically consuming the roast and potatoes.  Then she glanced at Alistair, who had eaten half his dinner already, and was not so discretely eyeing her second pie.  She caught his eye and glanced meaningfully at his roast dinner.

 

“Trade you some?” he offered, and in that she remembered what it was like to eat dinner with her family.  Everyone at the table, the chaos of everyone grabbing for what they wanted, not much to have, but enough to go around.  With a sharp grin, she didn’t hesitate to spear a full slice of roast, which made him indigently cry out, “Hey!”

 

“What?  You didn’t set any limits,” she replied guilelessly.  She took a healthy bite as if she hadn’t just stolen a good portion of his remaining dinner.  Then he did something she hadn’t expected.  Staring her down, he pulled the entire second pie to him and cracked into it.  Her eyes narrowed, and she finished the slice of roast and then went after the potatoes while he kept at the pie.  Then it turned into a race as they tried to finish each other’s food first. 

 

“Children,” Sten grumbled, taking his dinner elsewhere, away from the fray.  Leliana hid her laughter behind her hand, while Wynne sighed and said in despairing tones, “Really?” 

 

Caitwyn couldn’t deny they were right.  She and Alistair regarded each other for a moment, a temporary cessation of hostilities.  They were being idiotic, silly.  Then he grinned, that crooked grin, and Caitwyn let go.  Just a little.  She promptly stole his entire plate, and he kept shoveling pie into his mouth.  And for the first time since leaving Denerim it felt, just a little, like she was home again. 

 

Except this time it was for real.

 

* * *

 

“Made a pig of myself again.”  Caitwyn’s voice drifted to Morrigan’s ears through the half-open door to the room they were to share that night.  While Morrigan did not care to be in such confines with anyone, at least she shared her accommodation with the _least_ objectionable member of their little group.  Caitwyn had a quick mind, did not need to prattle on for no discernable reason, and of course bowed to Morrigan’s superior knowledge of the wilderness.

 

“At least this time you didn’t eat yourself sick.”  That was the other Warden, the one that was more desperate than the dog for attention and approval. 

 

“Small mercies,” Caitwyn said.  The small Warden half opened the door, and Morrigan’s lip curled with disdain.  Banal exchanges were even worse when overheard.

 

“Well, um, goodnight then,” he said before clomping away.

 

“Goodnight,” Caitwyn echoed, and slipped into the room, her mongrel dog padding in behind her.  Woman and dog sat on the second, narrow bed in the room.  Morrigan tried to ignore it all, but she felt the weight of the elf’s gaze on her.

 

“Can I help you?” Morrigan asked dryly.  Caitwyn shucked off her breeches and wiggled under the blankets.  The dog curled up around her, his large head nuzzled close.  The dog stank, and Morrigan could not understand how Caitwyn could stand the creature.

 

“No, nothing to help with,” Caitwyn said, and then fell silent.  Morrigan thought then she would be left in peace, but it seemed the other woman was not yet asleep and still inclined to speak.  “Just wondering why you didn’t come to dinner.  Coulda eaten with everyone else.”

 

“I had already eaten, and felt no desire to socialize,” Morrigan explained, not bothering to look up. 

 

“Well, your choice.”  With that stunning insight, the Warden settled into her bed and closed her eyes.  Undoubtedly the frivolity of dinner with everyone had been tiring, and thus the woman required her rest.  Morrigan rolled her eyes and felt no compulsion to set her book aside nor to douse her candle in deference to Caitwyn’s attempt to sleep.  Instead, she let the candle burn, letting herself sink into the formulae in her book.

 

The dog whined.

 

Morrigan glanced over to the other bed where the dog whimpered again, his eyes trained on Caitwyn.  The elf trembled in her sleep, her brows knit in fear.  She didn’t make any noise, even in her sleep, and Morrigan watched as a nightmare sank its claws into the Warden.  A vision of the Archdeamon or a darkness of her own mind, Morrigan did not know.  It might, at base, not even matter.

 

Sliding off her bed, Morrigan let her hand hover over the other woman’s shoulder and spun a thread of magic about her body.  The next moment Caitwyn stilled, the furrow that marred her brow disappearing, her body relaxing.  A restful sleep was hers again.  The dog regarded Morrigan, his dark eyes disconcertingly perceptive.  Then his mouth hung open and his tongue lolled out of his mouth in canine approval.

 

“Hardly the case,” Morrigan told him imperiously, though she kept her voice low.  “I simply did not wish for my own sleep to be disturbed.”  The dog’s gaze spoke of disbelief, but she was not prepared to credit the animal with that much awareness.  Regardless, she returned to her own bed and with another flicker of magic and a wave of her hand, she doused the candle.

 

Two days later, their party returned to the road, she found a half-eaten rabbit in and amongst her things.  The dog only grinned at her as she brought the bloody carcass to Caitwyn, who did not seem overly interested in punishing the beast.

 

Nothing was without its consequences, not even the smallest things.  Morrigan would not forget that unpleasant lesson.


End file.
